


The only scent of life

by BrokenSymphony



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark and painful, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Rhaella Targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenSymphony/pseuds/BrokenSymphony
Summary: She lowered her head and inhaled her son, the only scent of life and everything else around was murky.Rhaella's bond with her first-born, Rhaegar.
Relationships: Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen & Rhaella Targaryen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	The only scent of life

Smoke engulfed her in a silken embrace, heat caressed her flesh like a whisper and Rhaella saw the castle burning, in hues of orange and red. She lifted her skirts and water trickled down her legs, the baby thrashed and kicked, sensing the doom circling around them. 

Her pleas died under the crackling sound of flames, her senses numbed by the painful screams of her family. She ran like a scared bird clipped of its wings, mindlessly shoving things that slowed her down. Smoke rose to the sky creating dark hellish clouds and Rhaella gasped for breath, for light, for a way out. Her heart pulsated with dread and her loins with pain, her child desperate to come out. 

A pair of strong arms lifted her off the ground. They ran down stairs, dashed through corridors, but Rhaella sensed only death and decay around her. She coughed, choked, cried and winced, she tried to grab her rescuer but her palms filled with ash. 

Fire is life, her muna had said once no it is death, death and only death, Rhaella realized. 

"Be brave", her savior spoke, a whisper falling deaf on her ears, tiredness pushed Rhaella to lose consciousness. A sharp pain made her gasp and Rhaella found herself on hard ground, alone and empty. The castle burned afar. She leaned on the bark of the tree, and pushed with all her strength. Tears soiled her face, soot covered her body, her throat raw with endless screaming, her belly and loins ached more than her heart. The fire raged for hours so were her screams. And suddenly everything fell silent. 

Her child lied innocently, among grief and gloom. "Not like Aerys", Rhaella prayed before taking the boy in her arms. And he fitted so perfectly in them, in her tiny useless arms. His muffled cries filled her with a breath of fresh air. Her boy was all pink, indigo and silver, a sheer contrast to the red, brown and black dancing around them. 

Fire is like mother, it never differentiates burning everything alike, men, women and children, king, guard and priest, and it never differentiates, Rhaella bitterly thought. 

The once beautiful castle of Summerhall was a ruin, the thick clouds of smoke had faded into faintish wisps and Rhaella could feel the last breaths of her lost ones mingling into it, floating and drifting apart, further apart. She lowered her head and inhaled her son; the only scent of life and everything else around was murky. 

* * *

The bells rang from dusk to dawn, but Rhaella paid no heed. The sun shined and the moon hazed, but Rhaella noticed little. "Long live the king", the chants echoed throughout the corridor; her mind registered none. She stared blankly at her son, her eyes dull and hallow against his lively ones. She had to mourn, too much was lost, grief reigned and silence ruled but she was too exhausted to muster the courage to weep. So, she stared blankly at her son, the only scent of life. 

"Rhaegar", her father caressed his grandson tracing a finger along his face and Rhaella blinked. "After her mother", her father patted her head affectionately, "Your grandmother would have liked it", Rhaella heard the grief in his voice, saw the crack in his heart. 

Gratitude fluttered in her heart but a sob escaped her lips, the gift too kind to be thanked in words. "Rhaegar after Rhaella", her voice was a daze when the words left her. Tears welled in her eyes as she embraced her boy. "My flesh and blood", she cooed to him, strength returning to her, in bits and pieces. 

* * *

Rhaella lifted her skirts and blood trickled down instead of water. Her heart and soul ached more than her belly this time and she sat unmindful of the stains forming on her clothes. The blood was warm, warm like the ambers in a hearth, like the breath of a dragon, but the smell, it was foul and filled with death and decay. 

The maids screamed and the ladies mourned. Rhaella was stripped off naked, her thighs were crimson with blood, with blood of her unborn child. The maids gently cleaned her, the water washed off all the filth and her skin returned to its natural color. Her unborn son/daughter lied in a puddle of filthy blood and debris, ready to flow into the stinky sewage canals of Kings Landing. 

Rhaella was bathed in scented oils and rose petals but the stench of death and decay lingered on her. She lied down on her bed, the silken sheets prickled her like sharp needles, a portion of medicine was shoved down her throat and Rhaella slipped into a blissful slumber.

Later in the night, the air smelled of wine and flowers, and soft moans of pleasure filled Rhaella’s ears from Aerys’ chambers. A lone tear slipped from the corner of her eyes, not for her lost child and not due to her husband’s transgressions but for the emptiness in her heart which made her inept to feel. Her beautiful Rhaegar wiped her tear before it froze on her cheek, his sad eyes conveying that he understands and her lips curve into a sad smile.

Her son understood things that a 5 year old shouldn’t understand. The truth hits her hard; he felt death, in the dying screams of his family, in the salted tears of his mother on the day of his birth. She hugged him, dearer than life and closer than breath, and her Rhaegar hugged her back, his little hands curling tightly around her waist. His warm breath melted the ice in her heart and the tiny hands filled the void in her belly. Her boy who fought through fire, smoke and ash to be with her, the only scent of life.

* * *

Rhaella landed with a thud, her knees hit the ground hard and the slap rang loud in her ears. Tears flew, her jaw throbbed and she tasted blood on her tongue. Aerys beamed in joy when Rhaella shivered under his touch, he liked her submissive and Rhaella was too scared to not play to his musings. She sat there, head hung low, like a dragon without flame hoping Aerys wouldn’t strike a broken toy.

But she was a fool, like always. Aerys pulled her up and pushed her into the wall, his long nails dug into her flesh. She dared not look into his eyes; they burned with a glow too dark to look at. “Who?” he snarled, his voice raspy from all the mad ravings.

“No one”, Rhaella spoke between her cries. She hopelessly searched for her once caring brother in her now deranged husband. “Please Aerys, believe me”, she tried to hold his hand and he shoved her away.

“You dare infiltrate our dragon blood with filthy men, whore. My seed is not so weak to fall down so many times. Tell me, who did you lie with?” Aerys roared and thrashed everything in the room. Rhaella stepped backwards clutching her stomach. Her husband’s accusations or the still born child, Rhaella didn’t know which hurt her more.

Aerys burned with a fire, a mad raging fire and fire is life, her muna had said. No, it is death, death and only death, Rhaella cried.

Ser Gerold HighTower dragged her through the corridors, the man who loved her like a daughter, ran behind her when she was a girl and strolled through gardens holding her. He dragged her like a ragged doll, his eyes begging her not to resist the king’s command. The doors closed from outside and Rhaella dropped on her bed, tears soaked her sheets and sobs wrecked her heart.

She cried for hours, she cried for eons and she cried till her eyes burned. Blood dripped from her shoulders, Aerys nails sunk too hard, a purple bruise formed on her cheeks and her right knee was sprained. “The queen of Westeros”, her reflection mocked her. Her eyes were dull, like the eyes of her stillborn daughter. She looked like a corpse and smelled of grief and death.

Rhaegar dashed through the door when a maid was applying ointment on her cheek. A faint smile crossed her tired face and she extended her hand towards her son. Rhaegar held it with caution, his somber eyes scanning through her entire frame with sadness and guilt. Rhaella tried to conjure a lie but her son saw through it. He always saw through things. Her Rhaegar was wise beyond his years.

Rage flickered in his eyes, much deeper than an 8 year old can carry. The flames in his eyes roared and glowed more than the ones that consumed Summerhall and Rhaella shuddered. Prince Rhaegar was a miracle, no infant would have survived such hellish smoke, the maesters had told her. But her boy was not a miracle, he was a dragon, fire made flesh, an inferno among ashes.

Rhaella hugged him in fear and cried, hoping her tears douse the fire in his heart. “Fire is death”, she screamed in her head. ”Spare him the curse”, she begged the old gods, new gods, Valyrian gods, every other nameless god that ever gazed the earth.

Rhaegar tended to her wounds and when sleep didn’t reach her hallow eyes, he sang for her. His sweet sad tone filled the air and Rhaella felt light, lighter than the smoke that rose from Summerhall, smoke that devoured her family, smoke filled with death and decay. Her son was the only thing stopping her from drifting apart, the loosely hung thread, like the last note of his song, the only scent of life.

* * *

Her father turned a blind eye to her pleas; her mother turned a deaf ear to her cries. Aerys abused her, broke her and every single other person abandoned her, some for glory, some for honor, some for love and some for prophecy except Rhaegar until now. 

Her boy was a father now, who was willing to leave his mother for the safety of his daughter. Viserys was her second born, born after 15 years of heart ache. She sent a silent prayer on the day of his birth, “Not like Aerys” but the gods told her, “Only once”. Viserys was too much like his father and Rhaella could do nothing, except hoping his innocence reins his temper as long as it can.

Rhaegar fought for his daughter, openly crossing his father. “She is a babe in cradle. I will not let you fix her marriage with Viserys”, he declared with finality. Rhaella was never prouder. Her son was a better father, much better than the one who gave her birth. But now, her boy was leaving to Dragonstone and Rhaella was numb with fear.

Rhaegar was her life, her death and everything in between. Rhaegar after Rhaella, her father had said, but the truth is there is no Rhaella without Rhaegar. Her first born, the boy who came out crushing her, the boy who gave her hope, strength, and joy stopping her from tipping into madness.

The captain signaled from the dock, the ship ready to sail and Rhaella clutched onto Rhaegar, like the way she latched onto her mother on the night before her wedding to Aerys, scared and lost. “Mother, please”, words barely made out from Rhaegar’s lips, he was torn just like her. She broke into a puddle of tears, soaking his tunic with grief.

She had to let him go, set him free but how Rhaella had no idea. Mothers are not selfish when it came to their children, but Rhaegar was just not her child, he was the only scent of life and everything else was just darkness and decay.

The ship sailed, tears blurred her vision, but Rhaella didn’t move. “The prince had left”, the guards spoke to her but she stood there rooted to the spot her son has just left. She must live with that smell, the smell of death, decay and darkness.

* * *

Rhaella lifted her skirts, water trickled down her legs, a sharp pain shot through her and she screamed. She was laid on a bed, a storm raged on the outside, not of fire but very similar one of wind and water. Her baby kicked and thrashed, torn her way out ripping her muscles reminding her of Rhaegar. Her Rhaegar sat silent when she took him in her arms for the first time while her new born daughter wailed like a raging storm.

She was all pink, purple and silver against the blue and black dancing around. What she truly wanted to see was indigo and there was only one way to reach it, death. For one last time, Rhaella smelled of death and decay and she didn’t cower in fear. She was going to be with her first born, the only scent of life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope, it is good. If it is, please leave a comment.


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